


I, the hand grenade

by atticeyes



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Depression, M/M, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:31:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9049801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atticeyes/pseuds/atticeyes
Summary: It´s not before after the other man leaves that Bucky notices the stand with a camera on. His left cheekbone is tender. Steve will be home soon.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My work for the Hydra Trash Book.

_For years he dreamed of little blue children, all with claws for fingers and all huddled together in the same bed. He dreamed of roof-top people, of iron clouds. He thought of pale mothers with ice-blocks on their feet, walking into lakes._

_Some days it filled him, and he couldn´t breathe around it. When he closed his eyes he felt minor-tuned organ men with loud fists and tangy breath, and when he opened them, nothing had changed. His days turned into Mondays, his walls filled with mold and rotten desire, his hands turned stiff. (His mother told him that their house were old. Later, he found out that two people had died there. Some nights he thought he would, too.)_

_He learned how words were destructive the winter he split his lip and he tasted blood for months, but for completely different reasons._

_*_

 

The first time it happens, Steve calls Sam and Bucky sees him crying for the first time.

 

The days, weeks, that Bucky has lived in Steve´s New York apartment has all blurred together and he has trouble telling them apart and remember which day it is. They are achingly similar, blending like he is living in a loophole where there only exists one day.

Still, sometimes there are small changes. Some days he eats breakfast with Steve, or he refuses to leave his room. Some days Steve will smile, blue eyes swimming and he will say _“I´m so proud of you, Buck”,_ while other days his lips will be thin and he´ll sit behind his laptop for hours, reading. There are good days and bad days, but mostly there is static. Once, Steve had caught him staring blankly at the white and black dots that danced over the television screen for four hours, white noise filling the living room.

But mostly he is fine. Steve says “eat”, and he will eat. Steve says “time for bed” and he lies on his back for hours, eyes wide open.

 

Today, Steve has something to do. He is gone when Bucky walks barefoot into the kitchen; only a small note on the table is left for him. _“Pancakes in the fridge if you´re hungry. I´ll be back in three hours, see you soon!”_ Bucky isn´t hungry, but he likes the way Steve smiles when he does something he asks. Or suggests.

When Steve gets back, all the pancakes are gone. Steve notices the empty container on the table, and the plate in the sink, and before Bucky can even start to panic over not leaving anything for Steve, the other man beams at him. “You ate them all?” Bucky opens his mouth to respond, feeling the words in the back of his throat like a lump, and can only nod.

Steve´s smile widens, and the words tumbles out of the blonde man´s mouth before he can even think. “ _Good boy_!”

 

_Bucky´s knees went out, body limp & head bent. “Look at me!” the man growled, as he yanked the asset´s head back by it´s hair. “What do you say?” The grip tightened, & the asset drew in a shaky breath. “Yes, sir.” The response was a stinging slap across the face. _

_“Good boy, such a pretty, little slut, aren´t you?” a man groaned into his ear, each trust hitting a tender spot deep inside of him. He couldn´t answer, wasn´t allowed to make a sound, so he bit his lip._

_They were all around, surrounding him as he kneeled on the concrete floor & parted his lips obediently. _

_His hip-bones were slammed against the desk for each trust, & a hand around the back of his neck pressed his face into the hard wood. “_Fuck, _you have no idea how good you look like this”, teeth biting into his shoulder. “Such a good boy”._

_*_

The fog lifts slightly after that.

 

Sam is around more often than not, asking questions that Bucky doesn´t quite understand. Steve was usually around in the start, hovering near the door and looking at him with that wrinkle between his brows. Bucky feels electric, like his skin is buzzing, like he is about to just leave his body and float through the ceiling when Sam sits him down, ready to unravel him. At least that is how it feels.

“Do you remember everything that happened to you while HYDRA … kept you?” Bucky shakes his head. “But some things?” A nod. “Did they ever hit you? Beat you?”

Bucky wants to laugh. “You read the files, didn´t you?”

Sam takes a deep breath. “Everything is not in those files, right?” Bucky looks down, doesn´t know what to say.

 

*

 

 _“This is not on my level, Steve. I have no ground to stand on here, no experience, and to be honest with you … “_ Bucky doesn´t really want to listen in, but the walls are thin and his hearing is sharp. “ _And to be honest with you”,_ Sam continues, _“I think I’m doing more harm than good right now.”_

Bucky turns around in his bed, stares at the window.

 

*

 

It takes time for Steve to learn his triggers, to know which words to avoid and how to move around him. The air around them is tense, and Bucky feels more and more like a motel sign, missing a letter, dirty. But even though Steve tries, he keeps sending Bucky back and each time it´s ugly.

 

They are watching television. Something safe and empty, lights dim and Bucky´s head is calmer. Steve hums to himself, and Bucky looks over. Steve had told him the other day that he´s more responsive than he´s ever been since he got him back, and now Steve is giving him a small smile. The hand that he has resting on the back of his couch reached over to his head on it´s own to ruffle his hair, before it gently moves down to the nape of his neck. Something clicks.

 

He´s on his knees again, soft carpet, quiet, denim, warm, _please-_

 

_-no touching”, the man spits, hitting him in the jaw. “Yes, sir”. His hands are tied, he´s naked, the room is dark, target eliminated. He´s hard._

“-cky? Hey, come back.”

 

He blinks. Living room. New York. 2015. Steve. Safe?

 

He´s slumped on the carpet, and Steve is kneeing beside him, a crimson blush covering his face. “Y-you … disappeared for a second there”, he says. Bucky doesn´t know what to say, what he did, so he looks down. “Sorry.”

 

“Hey, no, it´s not your fault”, Steve reassures.

 

Bucky shakes his head.

 

*

 

Some nights he lies in bed until his brain let´s go and wakes up an hour later by his own trashing and is met by Steve´s worried eyes. Other nights he sits outside Steve´s bedroom-door, back against the dark wood and eyes filled with sand.

He likes the night because it´s dark and quiet and he doesn´t feel like anything. Or anyone. He just is. He breathes and creeps deep into that space that´s filled with molten light and dull electricity.

 

*

 

_“It can´t go on like this”._

*

 

Bucky wants to get better. He doesn´t really know what that _mean_ in the sense of existing, but he knows that something bad will happen if he stays this way. It´s Steve, and sometimes Sam, who pushes him to do things. To talk. Bucky feel frustrated because he doesn´t know how. He will talk if they tell him what to say, and he´ll do whatever they want him to do. Anything else seems impossible. He simply doesn´t know how. He realizes one day that he is in a state of constantly waiting, because every time Steve asks him to eat or suggests that he should take a shower, the tight knot loosens a bit.

 

He want´s to tell Steve, but he´s afraid of how his face will fall.

 

*

 

Steve thinks that staying behind, keeping his distance, will give Bucky enough space to explore his freedom. His choices. His _control._ He doesn´t realize that it feels more like chaos than control to Bucky. It´s so heavy on his bones, but he tries desperately to hide it. How his hands shake as he picks out a hoodie, tries to shave because his beard is getting long. It´s too much, too chaotic and Bucky more feels than sees that there is an end heading his way now.

 

*

 

Bucky is struck hard with déjá vu when he enters the kitchen a morning and finds a note from Steve and pancakes in the fridge. The day in front of him is packet with nothing, and he suddenly gets the wild idea to maybe do something. Go out for a walk. Buy coffee, perhaps? Steve seems to be noticing how his nerves are so thin and frail at the edges these days, threatening to unravel until they are completely gone, leaving the fragile center open and vulnerable. As if he doesn´t already feel too open and vulnerable, no matter how hard he shuts himself away. As if he isn´t already-

 

A sudden noise behind him startles him so much that he spins around too fast, and almost loses his balance. The open space the noise leaves in the silence is so big, so threatening, that Bucky stops breathing. Then the front door is slammed open and Rumlow walks in.

 

Bucky chokes.

 

The door is slammed shut, and now it´s like everything closes in on him. There is no room. There is nowhere to go. It´s only Rumlow and what will happen.

 

The other man walks towards him, all casual and easy, like he´s not the predator and Bucky is not already a dead deer. He smiles, invades his space and Bucky stays. Because there is no flashes when it´s him. There is no “back” to be sent to, because this is it. This is his past and his present and his future.

 

Rumlow leans into his body, hard, and breathes into his hair. “I´ve missed you”, he murmurs, gently loosing his ponytail. His hands are warm, slowly stroking through his hair, massaging his scalp. Bucky´s eyelids flutter and tiny sounds threatens to escape him. Then the grip is iron, red and hot, and the pressure of the table he´s pushed against is a dull ache against his lower back. “Did you think that I’d forgotten you?” Rumlow asks, low and steady against his temple. Bucky trembles. “You´re allowed to speak”.

Bucky shakes his head. “No.”

 

“And do you think that this is for you? Apartment in New York, coffee each morning, super-hero boyfriend?” Rumlow lowers his head, bites his neck. “Do you still spread your legs like a whore? Let him fuck you as hard as we did?”

 

Bucky´s knees wants to give in to his words, let him sink to the floor, but Rumlow is unmoving around him, like a cell holding him caged. And he doesn´t know what to say, so he keeps still. Rumlow laughs, vibrations reaching Bucky´s chest. “I´m not here to talk, _Bucky”._

He takes a step back, and Bucky grasps for the edge of the table, holding himself up as good as he can. “Down.”

 

As soon as it really starts, it´s like a switch goes off in his head, leaving him heavy and light and filled with soft cotton. It´s body memory, how easy it is to swallow him down, to hold his hands tight, _tight,_ behind his back and breathe through his nose. His jaw hurts and his throat burns, but it´s easy. It´s simple and it makes sense. Not logically, but there are no alarms going off in his head when Rumlow says _just like that,_ because he knows what the other man wants and he knows what he has to do.

 

He chokes once; the trusts are coming too fast for him to be able to breathe through, so Rumlow pulls out and punches him. It stings, and there is something warm running down his chin. Rumlow grabs his face and he looks surprised. “You´ve gone soft,” he grins and punches him again, splitting his lip.

 

When the HYDRA agent drags him into Steve´s bedroom, strips him of his boxers and spreads him out on the symbol of America´s bed, he´s hard. His hands are handcuffed, kept tightly against his back and Bucky feels another room, another time where this also happened. Air too warm, pants too tight, _buzzing, head tingeling-_

Rumlow pulls him back with another sharp blow, his nose is running, there is no _air,_ and-

 

Bucky is usually far away. Sometimes in the eighties, sometimes in the clouds or in the vast, unmoving nothing in his head. When Rumlow touches him, he stays and he feels, because he wants to be good, _has_ to be good, he´ll be _good_ …

He stays through the beating and biting, keeps every sound tightly against his chest, holds his legs. When Rumlow finishes, he kisses his temple, handcuffs him to the bed and grins against his ear: “I´ll be back.” Bucky has no reason not to believe him.

 

It´s not before after the other man leaves that Bucky notices the stand with a camera on. His left cheekbone is tender. Steve will be home soon.

 

 

 

*

 

_“Some people are so beautiful that they have to be touched hard.”_

 


End file.
